


Favourite Duster

by vecchiofastidioso



Series: Excerpts From a Bard's Life [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, NSFW, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 21:25:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3665616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vecchiofastidioso/pseuds/vecchiofastidioso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric has a new reason to enjoy his signature duster when with the Inquisition, courtesy of Hawke. nsfw for shameless smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Favourite Duster

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, we can thank Dragon Age Kink Meme for the prompt which inspired this: Hawke decides to forgo announcing her arrival at Skyhold in a more traditional manner. Instead, Varric pushes open the door to his room one evening and finds the Champion of Kirkwall waiting in his bed, naked except for her narrator's duster.
> 
> Established relationship awesome, also cool if this is how Hawke decides to announce her intentions to Varric.

         Whenever he’s speechless, it’s always because of her.  
         So it must be said: he was speechless.  
         Oh, he knew she would show up eventually. When Her Inquisitorialness told everyone just what it was she faced at Haven, Varric wrote to a certain someone who knew more than a little something about Corypheus. And she’d never let him down before. They had a tendency to drop everything for each other. But this...well...  
         There are some things he’d expect when returning home after days away, slogging through the miserably wholesome _outdoors_ people were always so fond of dragging him into. He expected his bed to be made (even though he didn’t make it before he left), the room to be aired, his papers neatened (though really, he’s told the staff several times to leave his books-in-progress alone). That night, he also expected a tub of hot water and some warmed bath sheets, since he’d asked for a bath to be brought to his room for when he had enough of downing several pints of ale.  
         He found all of these things when he opened his door and swung Bianca off his back.  
         And he found a redhead.  
         Specifically, a freckled redhead.  
         A petite and curvaceous freckled redhead wearing his duster.  
         A petite and curvaceous freckled redhead wearing his oldest and favourite duster, a pair of boots, and a smile as she reclined on his bed.  
         “Varric.”

         If the stunned expression on his face was any indication, her surprise was a success. Hawke didn’t even try to suppress the shit-eating grin making its way across her liberally freckled face as her usually silver-tongued, glib friend and partner in more than one misadventure struggled to find words. Eventually he managed to find one, strangled though it was.  
          _“Freckles!”_  
         “You wanted me to come here, so...” She shrugged and noticed his eyes dart south of her face when the move brought a certain jiggle to her unrestrained bosom (which had its fair share of freckles). “I hope you don’t mind I let myself in. I heard some of the tavern wenches comment on who all came back, then followed a servant who brought up your bath. You mentioned a Seeker was here, so...” Another shrug had heated golden eyes dart down to her chest again. “Unless you think she’ll check in here...?”  
         It took him a moment and several attempts to clear his throat. But eventually, the silver-tongued Dwarf, the man with a pen and heart of gold, found his tongue again as he shut the door and engaged the bolt with a soft _click._ “Unless Seeker suddenly has a burning desire to see me and learned how to pick locks in the last four hours...I think we’re safe.”  
         Hawke nodded and swung her legs over the side of the bed only to find Varric had bridged the distance between them as she sat up. This meant as soon as her feet hit the floor, she was eye-to-eye with the author and rogue. And soon after that, his gloved hands were cupping her face to brace her for a searching kiss. The kind of kiss that had the redhead gripping at Varric’s duster—the one he was wearing, not the one she was wearing—and her bright blue eyes fluttering closed while his mouth said in all the ways that mattered _I’m not entirely sure you’re here, but hell, I missed you._ She knew the feeling.

         This was really her.  
         This was really, actually, factually, a kiss with Hawke, and not some weird Fade shit (yeah, he was a Dwarf, but he’s gotten into Fade shit with Freckles before, so it wasn’t an impossible thing). His lips were really moving over hers. Those were her tiny hands tugging him close by fistfuls of his new duster. That was her breath rushing from her mouth into his on a sigh.  
         “What about your bath?” she murmured before her lips were stilled with another kiss.  
         His bath be damned.  
         He had more important things right now. He was impatiently tugging off his gloves so his fingers could graze over skin he hadn’t touched in... _months._ There were freckles to kiss. Each one on her face, from one cheek across her nose and to the other while she giggled softly. _That’s right: giggle for your goodies, Freckles._ There was coppery hair to stroke, the silky curls catching on calluses developed from combat and writing. There were curves to map with their mix of softness and hard muscle, sighs to draw from his lady with each caress.  
         “It’ll wait, sweetheart,” Varric murmured as he urged Hawke back down onto the bed. Maker, but she was a sight: red curls splayed over his pillow, heavy breasts spilling over arms that shyly curled around her middle, one foot propped on the bed so her knee was up and her legs parted with her copper curls down south on display to his hungry gaze. Yeah, it was cliché, but so true right now. He could eat her up—probably would at some point. But right now, he was busy undoing belts and tugging his tunic off as his gaze met and locked with Hawke’s intense blue stare. “I have more important things right now.” A raw-sounding chuckle escaped the Dwarf’s throat as he paused his hasty stripping and reached out to caress one pale and freckled cheek. “Like the one and only Freckles. Andraste’s tits, but I’ve missed you.”  
         And where he left off, she was obviously more than happy to continue. Hawke’s face may have softened and pinkened under those mud-splatter freckles and she may be smiling, but her hands were almost casual in the way they worked his trousers open. Not that Varric objected. He was quite happy to let his lady have her way with his person. Her interests aligned with his when she pulled him down by his necklace for an open-mouthed kiss that would have sent zings shooting southwards if seeing her in boots, his duster, and a smile hadn’t already put him well past half-mast within thirty seconds of entering his room. “I missed you too,” in a soft, soprano voice had his cock throbbing and wrenched a groan out into the miniscule space between their lips. A groan which was followed by a guttural curse when those talented fingers of Hawke’s let go of his necklace to curl around hard flesh and administer a slow, firm stroke.  
         Varric did the only thing he could do: he laughed. Shaky, a bit breathless, but it was still a chuckle. “So I see, sweetheart.”  
         The merchant prince was no stranger to that particular glint in his Lady Hawke’s eyes, and knew diversionary tactics were needed, pronto. So again, he did the only thing he could do. And this time it was rather effective. It had the petite redhead letting out a moan this time and tipping her head back, because Varric knew Hawke as well as she knew him. He knew how sensitive her breasts were, particularly since she was still nursing when he left her back in Kirkwall, and knew just how to swirl his tongue over a pebbled peak while the middle finger of his dominant hand boldly went where no other man had gone before, down through copper curls to skate delicately over a highly-sensitised nub before sliding into a wet cradle reserved just for him.

         Hawke knew exactly what Varric was doing. She just didn’t care to fight him on it.  
         Oh, she knew just where to kiss, nibble, and suckle to make him putty in her hands. She knew just how he liked to be stroked and how to make him come undone in minutes. Years of slowly increasing their intimacy levels had made the Champion quite comfortable with the bard’s body, just as it let him read Hawke like a book.  
         So she let him read her.  
         She let Varric tune her like a lute, caress her more intimately than he fondled even his beloved crossbow. When his fingers sent a shot of pleasure racing from between her legs up through her belly, Hawke let him know of his success with a whimpering sigh. She cradled his head to her bosom and buried her fingers in his hair. She tugged the golden strands when _your Champion wants a kiss_ were the words he had to read, and muffled a groan with his lips and tongue.  
         There was no protest as the Dwarf’s intent to prepare Hawke for his possession obviously changed to _you deserve a thank-you for such a lovely surprise._ Why would she protest? There was no point. And the redhead knew damned well Varric enjoyed watching her writhe as she did now, her hips bucking up to get more pressure from his fingers, more friction, to push them _deeper_ until she—  
         She shattered.  
         Her breath hitched in unconscious preparation for a scream at the explosion of pleasure. But her merchant prince knew her well and met her opened mouth with his at the first uncoordinated spasms of her vagina around his fingers. All she had to do was feel, clutch at him with desperate fingers, and let him muffle her vocalisations as she shuddered in his arms.

         His little Champion was beautiful when she came undone like this. If Varric wasn’t kissing her deeply, following as her head fell back and her body bowed, Hawke would quite vocally make her presence known to the Inquisition. And half of Thedas. But he swallowed her high-pitched cries of delight while his hand between her legs slowed with the easing of her jerking hips into gentle rolls, then stillness. Only Varric got to see the pretty pink flush that suffused freckled skin and glittering blue eyes, got to nibble at those swollen lips.  
         No other man, woman, Dwarf, or Elf ever got to see her come back down or watch her eyes drift towards her partner’s hand, now slick with her spend. Nobody else was privilege to her tongue darting over pink lips at the sight of Varric stroking himself, slicking himself in preparation for her. He was the only one to make her chuckle huskily with flushed face and rumpled hair in bed like he did now with, “Gotta say, Freckles...that old piece of nug shit looks better on you than it ever did on me.”  
         Hawke was still giggling as she twined her legs around his hips and Varric bumped foreheads with her. “I always thought you quite handsome in it,” she whispered. Nothing he didn’t know, but it was still cute she said it. As was the way her little giggles faded into a softly exhaled ohh...when his erection nudged against her folds.  
         “Remind me next time to greet you in just a duster, boots, and a smile then,” got her giggling again—best way to have his beautiful lady—but the giggles grew more breathy and petered out with each inch of turgid flesh that worked its way into Hawke’s slick and welcoming passage.

         Her mind was still reeling when Varric sank back on his haunches and pulled the redhead up with him, the last of the giggles fading away as the move impaled her on his cock, as much as her body could take. There might have been a whimper. If there was, it was muffled against a sweat-dampened shoulder as her head bowed down to rest against his oh-so-reliable shoulder.  
         They were good shoulders.  
         Broad.  
         Very sturdy leg rests.  
         And at the moment, Varric’s left shoulder made a very good pillow as Hawke trembled in his lap and felt more than a little giddy.  
         His arms wrapped around her underneath that somewhat raggedy duster were so wonderfully supportive. And his hands—his beautiful hands—were confident as they guided her hips along his throbbing dick. The movements were slow at first but soon picked up in speed and intensity. When the redhead bounced in Varric’s lap and rode him without needing guidance, it freed up a hand to tangle in her shoulder-length curls and guide her mouth to his in a series of uncoordinated kisses interspersed with gasps for breath and brief epithets. It was pretty obvious neither of them were going to last too long.

         It was to be hoped getting Freckles off first would give him time to get himself under control. But nope. Months of waiting for her to heal after giving birth, then their time apart thanks to Maker-damned Inquisition things made for quite a dry spell with only memories and his hand for company. So sue him: Varric had a fairly healthy need for this little shit of a redhead.  
         Hawke.  
         Freckles.  
         Aubrey.  
          _His wife._  
         He had an urge he wasn’t about to repress: he wanted to lose himself in her. He wanted to hear that sweet sound of her whimpering his name while he growled out her own, while his hips jerked urgently up to meet her own with soft squelches and the slap of flesh on flesh. He wanted to spend himself in her shuddering body as she scored his back and shoulders with her nails. He wanted to hold her close while Aubrey rocked in his lap to eke out those last little shivers of ecstasy.  
         And when Varric eased them both back down on the bed, he felt the best he had in days.

         The redhead must have drifted off soon after that, because she found herself waking up and initially feeling disoriented. This wasn’t the bed at Amell Estate, or the one at The Hanged Man. The walls were unfamiliar, the patterns of light different from her norm. But her world soon righted at the sight of Varric watching Hawke with a soft and subtle smile, which turned a crafty fighter and cunning wordsmith into a great lug of a sweetheart she called her own.  
         Aubrey couldn’t help smiling back, which only made his smile widen into something dangerously close to the customary confidant Varric smirk. “Hi.”  
         “Hi yourself, Freckles.” When the Dwarf kissed her nose, the Champion of Kirkwall let out a rather un-Champion giggle. “I’d offer you a bath, but...I think the water’s cold.”  
         “Mmmm...shame on you: providing delicate young ladies with cold water to bathe in.”  
         Varric rolled his eyes at that, prompting another soft laugh from Hawke. “Well, shit, Hawke. I wasn’t exactly expecting you to wait for me in all your Maker-granted glory and my duster—my most ragged, comfortable duster.”  
         Oh, and those bright blue eyes weren’t quite so sleepy now. They gleamed with unrepentant mirth and delight. “It was meant to be a surprise.”  
         “I was surprised alright.” But Aubrey knew he wasn’t nearly as irritated as his grumbling would make it seem. He had a knack for ruining the effect by stealing soft kisses and snaking his arms around her to pull their bodies together. “Shit, Freckles. Welcome to Skyhold.”


End file.
